


Mirror Mirror

by ParisianPatate



Series: Kindred Spirits [3]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Male Apprentice (The Arcana), Multi, Pre-Prologue, Red Plague (The Arcana), The Lazaret (The Arcana)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParisianPatate/pseuds/ParisianPatate
Summary: But with every one of their interactions, they were not alone. In their peripheral lingered a wraith : one with crimson eyes and tears of blood. It seeped from their sockets as their double-betrayal steadily drove a new spike into their spectral heart. How dare they offer each other so much warmth when they left them so cold. How dare they use them as their central bonding point, the pain ultimately uniting them. How dare they claim to have loved them, when they could so easily forget them, enraptured in the pleasure of each other's flesh. Two alive and beating hearts, speaking as rawly and intimately to one another as they once did with theirs.A series of snapshots from life at the palace through Julian's and Asra's perspectives.Though they live it solitarily, their common loss unites them more than it tears them apart.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Asra/Julian Devorak
Series: Kindred Spirits [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728517
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is more part 2.5 of Kindred Spirits, since it's smack-dab in the middle of the "Death" and "Life" of part two. I was not expecting to write something in this series that would not be from Kealla's eyes (so, not in first POV, or in the present tense, for that matter). But I was curious about that stretch of time in-between, and then heavily inspired by Mazie's [lily white, poppy red](http://aminoapps.com/p/m6l6in) on amino (since it's damn beautiful, and I wanted to do something like THAT).
> 
> Sorry to make you angsty all over again, babes. Like we don't have enough of that already.

**1\. Encounter**

He stepped out of the dungeon, briefly savoring the untainted air from the world above. He was late for dinner, not like that mattered anymore. Norms and convention were thrown to the wind as the city hobbled on its last leg, ravished by the double-headed beast that is disease and death. 

When he entered the dining room, he was surprised to see the table was still unset. The room was empty except for the two guards that lingered on the edge of the hall, eyeing the individuals in the middle of the floor. There, Nadia kneeled before a white-haired shadow. Moist eyes and bloody hands were the first thing Julian identified it by. Next, he noticed the layer of grime. Clean tracks streaked down soot-covered cheeks, cleared by the steady stream of tears that had fallen from behind those light eyelashes. 

Seeing him stirred up the memory Julian had long been repressing, unable to confront. The memory of his late apprentice. And the memory of the magician that had their heart. 

Now, that very same magician sat in the middle of the palace dining hall, and had become just as much of a prisoner as he. Not by the guards, nor by the Court, but by the shackles of guilt they both placed upon themselves. The shackles they carried, in hopes to repent, through service and suffering. It was well deserved, in any case. After all, they had betrayed them ; they had left their apprentice to die. 

Nadia murmured to the white-curled magician in low, soothing tones. His hands trembled weakly as he fixated on the floor, unwilling, or unable, to meet anyone's eyes. After a moment, Nadia spotted Julian and stood up defensively.

"Julian." She stepped toward him, attempting to shield his view from the husk of the person beyond. "You'll have to forgive my tardiness on dinner tonight. We have had something unexpected come up." She gave him a warm yet restrained smile. "Please, take the opportunity to wash off and relax in a bath." He opened his mouth to refuse, as always, when she stopped him. "I insist. I have already sent a servant to run one for you." On cue, a servant appeared, whisking him away. "We will regroup half past the hour."

The palace halls were eerily silent. Only the chatter of the help disturbed it, though none dared venture above a feverish whisper. Today, it buzzed with news of the new guest within its walls. 

“On the Island…" "...Digging in the ash." 

"Had to be restrained…" "Maddened."

Colors mixed and formed a melancholic painting; their words adding strokes to the blank canvas that sat in Julian's mind. Now, he saw the solitary figure : a pillar of light in the ravaged land beyond, keeled over and broken by the death that surrounded him. 

***

"I believe you have already met Doctor Devorak, Asra?" 

They finally sat at the table with the night's feast spread before them. Anything his heart could have desired glared up at him, but he had no appetite. Quite the contrary, the thought of eating made him nauseous; more nauseous than before. It only amplified that terrible feeling in his gut, which had sickly spread throughout his entire body once he had discovered the truth about Kealla.

Of course that was what had happened to Kealla. That was exactly why he had wanted the both of them to leave in the first place. 

And yet, when they refused, he left them on the doorstep without turning back. 

Left them alone. To die on their own. 

What did he expect? How did he think there would be any other outcome than this? 

Doctor Devorak responded for him. "Yes, we briefly met months ago, when Lucio originally attempted to assemble his plague team." 

Asra looked at the Doctor. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper than before. The man must have been battling with his own demons. Though, his hair glistened from the bath, giving him a refreshed look. It did him good, just like it had done Asra good when Nadia practically threw him into the bath herself, releasing a band of assistants upon him to scrub the soot that caked his entire body. 

But Asra's hands still felt dirty, and he knew it would be a while before they would ever feel clean again. If they could ever feel clean again. 

"Yes, that is correct." It was the first thing that he had managed to say all night, and it came out rather raspy. In normal times, that affirmation would be followed by a conversational pleasantry. A _it's good to see you again,_ or a _how lovely it is to meet you once more._

But nothing was good, or lovely, about the circumstances in which their paths now crossed. And they all knew it.

The three of them went silent. Only the sounds of Julian's and Nadia's steady clinking silverware filled the open and empty dining hall. 


	2. Heartache

**2\. Heartache**

The deep, gaping hole in his chest filled slightly with the presence of the Magician.

Though they were both distinct, he couldn't help but be reminded of Kealla in almost every little thing Asra did : the way he furrowed his brow when he concentrated, the way his eyes expanded when he zoned out, the way he glared at him whenever Julian did something overzealous or ridiculous, and the little laugh that always followed, unable to contain itself behind that scolding exterior…

All little ticks humans pick up from one another when they spend too much time together.

He knew that they had been lovers. And from what he could gather, it had been for a longtime... a _lifetime_ for people so young. Which is exactly why they were so similar without even noticing it. Exactly why Julian couldn't help but vy for Asra's heart, too. 

He felt terrible about it. He felt his betrayal of Kealla in every passing thought he had toward him. It was perverse, the whole situation he had put himself in. He loved one, or had claimed to love one, but when they were gone, moved onto the one _they_ had loved. And he could do so because they were no longer in the picture. How disgusting it was to cause so much damage in life, and so much disloyalty in death. 

But he was only a man, a man in a desperate search for some sliver of hope. And the Magician was the one that held it, just above his nose, tantalizing and out of reach. 

They were in the library, like so many days before. He needed something to call Asra's attention to himself. Anything. He stood from his desk and walked over to Asra’s spot on the pillows. He was buried deep in a large tome, brow furrowed exactly as Julian so loved. 

"What are you doing?” 

Without looking up, Asra responded. "Nothing that could concern your Medical Mind. Run along, now." 

He snorted. "So secretive. Typical." A provocation. One he hoped he would get a rise out of. It seemed to work, he could see the gears turning in Asra's mind. 

Slowly, his eyes rose to lock with his. "Ilya, you don't know me." 

"You're right, but it's so on-par with everything I've heard about you." 

In that moment, in the shocked silence that lingered over the library, he could've heard a pin drop. He couldn't believe he had done that; released his most trying secret through subtle implication. But Asra was too bright not to understand it. Julian might as well have said _I knew your apprentice. Their heart would whisper these things to me when they were mine, too._

Comprehension crossed Asra's face and pained lines grew upon it before he quickly rose and exited the library. 

He did get a reaction, but at what cost? He never failed to astound himself with how stupid he had been, and continued to be.

***

Asra's time at the Palace was everything he had expected it to be : tedious, testing, and depressing. But he was here on a mission and would not waver. If only Ilya would get the hint. The man always lingered around him, vying for his attention and affection. Time and time again, Asra pushed him away, but he never did so fully. Instead, he left him in limbo, keeping them both in a silly tango. 

Because rejecting Ilya completely would be like rejecting himself. And part of him still refused to do so. After everything he'd done, after the pain he deserved to feel, that small, hopeful part of him stubbornly persisted. It begged to fill that gaping chasm in his chest with love and desire. 

So instead, he played with Julian; toyed with his heart to cause him the same emptiness that he felt. Anything to chastise him for what he had done to them both. And in doing so, he could hate him, and could hate himself even more. For as much as he could pin on Ilya, he knew that the one with the dirtiest hands was he. The Doctor may have made the final twist of the knife in Kealla’s heart, the last blow needed to ultimately kill them; but Asra was the first to drive the blade deep into the beating muscle.

And yet, he was about to make his soiled hands dirtier. He had fallen too deep and, instead of digging toward the light, decided to burrow further into darkness. For _Kealla_ , he reasoned, though he knew that was his own, selfish lie.

For _himself._

It was the only way to avoid succumbing to his own madness, to cope with the irreversible damage his choices had caused. The hope of finding a solution, regardless of what it cost him, or the rest of the world, was all that kept him going on the long-term. 

On the short term, Julian proved to be a convenient band-aid. They kissed; they teased; they made love. Both of them, desperate to crawl outside of their own skins and into someone else's, if only for a moment. But with every one of their interactions, they were not alone. 

In their peripheral lingered a wraith : one with crimson eyes and tears of blood. It seeped from their sockets as their double-betrayal steadily drove a new spike into their spectral heart. How _dare_ they offer each other so much warmth when they left them so cold. How _dare_ they use them as their central bonding point, the pain ultimately uniting them. How _dare_ they claim to have _loved them,_ when they could so easily forget them, enraptured in the pleasure of each other's flesh. Two alive and beating hearts, speaking as rawly and intimately to one another as they once did with theirs.

But now, the shade sat buried in the sand, stuck and freezing, alongside the cremated bodies of those that were just as easily forgotten. The cool veil of death could be no match to the vibrant heat of life. 

There, it could be ignored. At the very least, that is what they were both desperately aiming for.


	3. Dream-State

**3) Dream-State**

“Julian.”

He was dreaming. He knew it, for he stood on the beach without his Plague attire. His rolled up sleeves and pant legs left him feeling naked on the shore as the sun kissed his skin for the first time in months. 

“Julian.” The voice said again. 

_That_ voice. He knew that voice. He turned and spotted Kealla, more beautiful than he had ever seen. And most importantly _alive_ , and _breathing_ , and _well_. They smiled and reached a hand out to him. “Dance with me. I’ve missed you.” 

It was as if his feet moved on their own. In a moment he was is Kealla’s arms, swaying to nothing but the sounds of the waves. But the warmth he felt from their body was fleeting. In another second, they were gone. The sunny sky turned dark. He looked around to find them, and there they were : wading in the water; the waves lapping at the back of their legs. On the horizon behind them sat the Lazaret, smoke billowing out of the tall chimneys. Crimson stained their eyes again, just like the last, damning time he saw them. A maddened smile grew on their lips, the mirror image of the memory that had haunted him since their final good-bye. They reached out a hand to him again, coaxing him to follow to the destination beyond.

“Well, Doctor Devorak. It’s time for _me_ to lead the way.” 

Back in his cell, he sat up in a sweat. From the mirror above the sink, one crimson-stained eye reflected back at him. He rose quickly and collapsed in the seat of his desk, digging through the papers covering it. Time was running out. 

***

In the guest chambers far above, Asra bolted awake. Sweat dripped off of his face and his whole body trembled. He saw them again, a dream or a nightmare? A dream turned to nightmare. Almost every night, his mind would pick a favorite memory and taint it. Make it end in The Fight. Or the condemning reality that followed. 

Tonight, he had relived one of his returns from his travels. 

The bell chimed as he entered the Shop. Kealla was arranging the numerous books on the shelves behind the counter. "Can I help you-" they turned around and spotted him. 

After dropping what remained in their arms, they leapt into his. He stumbled a bit in an attempt to prevent the both of them from falling into a heap on the floor. Laughter burst from him as he did so. Could he ever feel happier? He received nothing but the warmest welcome from the person that tenderly held his whole heart. As they latched onto him, he swayed and breathed in their scent. Nothing smelled better. Nothing comforted him more. 

“I have a present for you." He pulled bottles of paint out of his sack and placed them on the counter. “They get their vibrant dye from the finest berries of Venterre." 

Kealla's eyes lit up. "Does that mean I can eat them?” 

He laughed again. They were always so eager to taste. "Yes."

Kealla opened the cap and poured a dot onto the tip of their finger. Then, gently closing their mouth around it, their eyes closed in sync. "Mmmm," they breathed steadily for a moment, savoring, before opening their eyes to look deep into his. "Do you want to try?” He nodded silently, transfixed. 

Kealla placed another dalop on their fingertip and brought it up to his lips, smearing the red into the curves. He couldn’t tell who had leaned in first, but their mouths were soon linked, locked in a kiss. Nothing could taste sweeter. 

"I'll miss this taste." The two of them broke apart and Kealla fluttered their eyelashes at him, cheeks tinted red and eyes full of mirth. 

But there, the memory warped. Asra did a double-take as the scene changed. 

The red moved from their cheeks and into the whites of their eyes as their face fell into a haunting grimace. Kealla’s mouth opened, blood pouring down to the floor before them. "Ash isn't nearly as satisfying." 


	4. 4. A Fork in the Path

**4) A Fork in the Path**

He jolted from his spot on his chair. He was back in his body. The delirium that had gripped him since the infection was gone and he was finally struck with clarity. 

And he was livid. 

He stood up and screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed some more, flinging everything in his small cell around : ripping papers out of the spines of notebooks, flipping over his bed, throwing glass jars at the back of that locked dungeon door. 

Everything he had done, everyone he had lost, was all in vain. This plague, this  _ curse,  _ was something that could never have existed had he allowed that spoiled tyrant to die on the battlefield so many years ago. But Julian, ever the healer, ever the helper, could never differentiate who was worthy of saving or not. 

When he was done with his outburst, when every remnant of the failure that he had built his life around was broken and lying on the floor around him, he fell to his knees and wept. His whole body convulsed violently as the hot tears burned his eyes and the sobs ripped themselves from deep within his chest. 

The Hanged Man had saved his miserable life during his visit. And he also brought him the pain of living with truth. The veil was finally lifted and he knew what he had to do. 

How lucky it was that it coincided with everything he  _ wanted  _ to do. 

He stopped weeping and looked up at the locked door in front of him. If only he could get out. 

But fate was unusually generous with him tonight. In that moment, heavy footsteps padded down the stone steps and keys jingled in the lock from the outside. Julian jumped to his feet as the door tentatively pushed open. Before him loomed Muriel. 

They simply looked at each other for a moment, Julian's breathing rapid and enraged.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

Muriel closed his eyes and gave one small nod, stepping aside to allow him the free path to the world up above. 

Julian rushed past him and up the stairs, Muriel hot on his heels. "Julian" he mumbled. It stopped the latter instantly. "You'll need this."

Muriel unlatched the large hunting knife that was attached to his calf and placed the handle in Julian's hand. The latter's grip tightened around it as he swung back around and continued on his sprint to the chambers above. 

In a second, he was before the door. In another, he had thrown it open. And in the next, his eyes took in the sight before him : fire engulfed the dark figure that laid on the bed, writhing. 

Smoke filled the room and made Julian cough. While he did, he dropped the knife. 

Like everything, he had been too late. 

He brought his hands up to cover his eyes, peeking through his fingers. He was in too much pain to continue to observe the scene before him, but far too transfixed by the horror, by this final culmination of the hell they had all lived through.

He thought it would make him feel better. He really did. But all that was left as the Count burned before him, was the misery that the former had caused in his wake. And while he was now gone, nothing he had done would ever be fixed, or whole… Or  _ alive  _ once more. 

He dashed from the room. 

"Julian!” Muriel called after him. 

But he was already too far down the hall. Already determined to get away from  _ here,  _ get away from the  _ horror  _ and the  _ disgust  _ this place evoked for him. Get away. Far away. As far as the world could take him. He wanted to ride the air, sail the seas,  _ anything, anything, ANYTHING  _ to not feel like he was suffocating every single living day. 

He was in the main hall, sprinting toward the front door. Another figure was running in the opposite direction, toward the back. They both turned their heads and locked eyes with one another. 

Asra. Julian saw his same, crazed look mirrored back at him through his eyes. 

It was like the world froze as they truly looked at each other for the first time, truly saw the pain and sorrow they both held deep within themselves but so frantically attempted to cover ; to push down deep into their core and forget its existence. 

But the moment was up. Their eye contact was broken as they continued on their mad sprints to opposite destinations. 

***

"Muriel!” Asra yelled as the lumbering figure reached the bottom of the stairs. "We have to go,  _ NOW. _ "

He ran past him and didn't look back. He knew he wouldn't have to. Muriel, his ever loyal, ever loving friend, would always be right behind him when he needed him most. And if there was ever a moment that he would need him, it was then. 

Asra could feel his whole body shake as he pounded out of the Palace, down the marble steps, and into the greenery of the gardens beyond. His pace didn't slow as he weaved through the hedges and to the outer walls, finding the sweet-spot that lead him to the forest beyond. 

Mechanically, he opened the passage and stepped through. Mechanically, he ran down the path that he had so often paced, waiting, planning, practicing for the moment that was about to come. 

On their own, his feet took him to the clearing : the one that he had carefully chosen, the one he had perfectly prepared. He could feel the magic pulsing in the air when he broke inside. He finally stood in the center of it, panting. 

Without another word, he shakily held out a hand. In response, a heavy weight was placed into it. He looked and saw his best friend, the man that had followed him here against his better judgment, gently placing the handle of his hunting knife into the center of his palm. 

Asra knew he was against this. But Muriel had followed him here and supported him throughout it all because he was good and kind and lovely. Better than him. The best of us all. 

Asra grasped the knife firmly and Muriel backed into the outer edge of the clearing, patiently surveilling. 

He trembled more violently now, overcome by the emotion of the situation. Tears began to well up in his eyes, spilling from them as he brought the blade down to his hand. 

He loved Kealla. That was all that mattered. And this was going to work. And it was going to be worth it. And everything would be all right once again. 

He sliced into his palm, crying out in pain as the blade bit into his flesh. He dropped the knife and bent over, grasping at his bleeding hand with the other as the tears clouded his vision. 

There was no time to lose. 

He muttered the incantations like he had so often practiced before, quickly and carefully drawing the insignia on the grassy forest floor with this own, dripping, blood. 

When he had closed the insignia and it was complete, he walked back and stood in the middle of it, chanting louder. 

That's when he felt it. A pain so ferocious it brought him to his knees. It dug a clawed hand deep into his chest and began ripping his heart in two. He screamed as the agony continued. He gripped the ground before him, keeled over, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't pass out ; hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't be the end. 

And then, the screaming stopped as the pain disappeared, gone like a wisp of smoke. He breathed deeply as he realized he was still  _ there _ . 

Tentatively, he placed his uninjured hand over his heart. It felt different. Emptier than before, if that could be possible. 

But then, his eyes rose and fell upon the figure that he had been waiting for. It was lying on the forest floor a few paces away from him. 

His breath caught in his throat as it laid there, motionless. But slowly, very slowly, eyelashes fluttered open and vibrant eyes studied the canopy far above. 

And suddenly, miraculously, his halved-heart felt whole. 

  
  
  



End file.
